Perfect Chemistry
by shookie7
Summary: Ally Dawson has worked extremely hard to put on a picture perfect image to hide her horrible home life and Austin Moon's dangerous gang ties through friends, family and he himself throughout his life have caused him nothing but chaos. Their senior year at high school starts and Ally and Austin are assigned to each other as lab partners in chemistry at their school.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys this is one of my first stories. I based this off the book Perfect Chemistry by Simone Elkeles. I don't own anything or anything y'all might recognize from Perfect Chemistry or Austin & Ally. All rights go to the owners. I was going to try this out and see how y'all would like me to finish the story. So please review if y'all would like to see more of this story. The main character in the book (Alex) is a latino so there is some spanish in here, but I'll put the english translation in next to it. **

* * *

_**Ally**_

Everyone knows I'm perfect. My life is perfect. My clothes are perfect. Even my family is perfect. And although it's a complete lie, I've worked my butt off to keep up the appearance that I have it all. The truth, if it were to come out, this would destroy  
/my entire picture-perfect image.

Standing in front of my bathroom mirror while music blares from my speakers, I wipe away the third crooked line I've drawn beneath my eye. My hands are shaking, damn it. Starting senior year of high school and seeing my boyfriend after a summer apart  
/shouldn't be so nerve-racking, but I've gotten off to a disastrous start. First, my curling iron sent up smoke signals and died. Then the button on my favorite shirt popped off. Now, my eyeliner decides it has a mind of its own. If I had any choice  
/in the matter, I'd stay in my comfy bed and eat warm chocolate chip cookies all day.

"Ally, come down," I faintly hear my mom yelling from the foyer.

My first instinct is to ignore her, but that never gets me anything but arguments, headaches, and more yelling.

"I'll be there in a sec," I call down, hoping I can get this eyeliner to go on straight and be done with it.

Finally getting it right, I toss the eyeliner tube on the counter, double and triple check myself in the mirror, turn off my stereo, and hurry down the hallway.

My mom is standing at the bottom of our grand staircase, scanning my outfit. I straighten. I know, I know. I'm eighteen and shouldn't care what my mom thinks. But you haven't lived in the Dawson house. My mom has anxiety. Not the kind easily controlled  
/with little blue pills. And when my mom is stressed, everyone living with her suffers. I think that's why my dad goes to work before she gets up in the morning, so he doesn't have to deal with, well, her.

"Hate the pants, love the belt," Mom says, pointing her index finger at each item. "And that noise you call music was giving me a headache. Thank goodness it's off."

"Good morning to you, too, Mother," I say before walking down the stairs and giving her a peck on the cheek. The smell of my mom's strong perfume stings my nostrils the closer I get. She already looks like a million bucks in her Ralph Lauren Blue Label  
/tennis dress. No one can point a finger and criticize her outfit, that's for sure.

"I bought your favorite muffin for the first day of school," Mom says, pulling out a bag from behind her back.

"No, thanks," I say, looking around for my sister. "Where's Shelley?"

"In the kitchen."

"Is her new caretaker here yet?"

"Her name is Baghda, and no. She's coming in an hour."

"Did you tell her wool irritates Shelley's skin? And that she pulls hair?" She's always let it be known in her nonverbal cues she gets irritated by the feeling of wool on her skin. Pulling hair is her new thing, and it has caused a few disasters. Disasters  
/in my house are about as pretty as a car wreck, so avoiding them is crucial.

"Yes. And yes. I gave your sister an earful this morning, Ally. If she keeps acting up, we'll find ourselves out of another caretaker."

I walk into the kitchen, not wanting to hear my mother go on and on about her theories of why Shelley lashes out. Shelley is sitting at the table in her wheelchair, busily eating her specially blended food because, even at the age of twenty, my sister  
/doesn't have the ability to chew and swallow like people without her physical limitations. As usual, the food has found its way onto her chin, lips, and cheeks.

"Hey, Shell-bell," I say, leaning over her and wiping her face with a napkin. "It's the first day of school. Wish me luck."

Shelley holds jerky arms out and gives me a lopsided smile. I love that smile.

"You want to give me a hug?" I ask her, knowing she does. The doctors always tell us the more interaction Shelley gets, the better off she'll be.

Shelley nods. I fold myself in her arms, careful to keep her hands away from my hair. When I straighten, my mom gasps. It sounds to me like a referee's whistle, halting my life. "Ally, you can't go to school like that."

"Like what?"

She shakes her head and sighs in frustration. "Look at your shirt."

Glancing down, I see a large wet spot on the front of my white Calvin Klein shirt. Oops. Shelley's drool. One look at my sister's drawn face tells me what she can't easily put into words. Shelley is sorry. Shelley didn't mean to mess up my outfit.

"It's no biggie," I tell her, although in the back of my mind I know it screws up my "perfect" look.

Frowning, my mom wets a paper towel at the sink and dabs at the spot. It makes me feel like a two-year-old.

"Go upstairs and change."

"Mom, it was just peaches," I say, treading carefully so this doesn't turn into a full-blown yelling match. The last thing I want to do is make my sister feel bad.

"Peaches stain. You don't want people thinking you don't care about your appearance."

"Fine." I wish this was one of my mom's good days, the days she doesn't bug me about stuff.

I give my sister a kiss on the top of her head, making sure she doesn't think her drool bothers me in the least. "I'll see ya after school," I say, attempting to keep the morning cheerful. "To finish our checker tournament."

I run back up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. When I get to my bedroom, I check my watch. Oh, no. It's ten after seven. My best friend, Trish, is gonna freak out if I'm late picking her up. Grabbing a light blue scarf out of my closet, I pray  
/it'll work. Maybe nobody will notice the drool spot if I tie it just right.

When I come back down the stairs, my mother is standing in the foyer, scanning my appearance again. "Love the scarf." Phew.

As I pass her, she shoves the muffin into my hand. "Eat it on the way."

I take the muffin. Walking to my car, I absently bite into it. Unfortunately it isn't blueberry, my favorite. It's banana nut, and the bananas are overdone. It reminds me of myself-seemingly perfect on the outside, but the inside is all mush.

* * *

noshade=""

noshade=""

 _ **Austin**_

"Get up, Austin."

I scowl at my little brother and bury my head under my pillow. Since I share a room with my eleven- and fifteen-year-old brothers, there's no escape except the little privacy a lone pillow can give.

"Leave me alone, Mark," I say roughly through the pillow. "No estes chingando." (Don't fucking bother me)

"I'm not fuckin' with you. Mama told me to wake you so you won't be late for school."

Senior year. I should be proud I'll be the first family member in the Moon household to graduate high school. But after graduation, real life will start. College is just a dream. Senior year for me is like a retirement party for a sixty-five-year-old.  
/You know you can do more, but everyone expects you to quit.

"I'm all dressed in my new clothes," Mark's proud but muffled voice comes through the pillow. "The nenas (girls) won't be able to resist this stud."

"Good for you," I mumble.

"Mama said I should pour this pitcher of water on you if you don't get up."

Was privacy too much to ask for? I take my pillow and chuck it across the room. It's a direct hit. The water splashes all over him.

"Culero!" (asshole) he screams at me. "These are the only new clothes I got."

A fit of laughter is coming through the bedroom door. Anthony, my other brother, is laughing like a frickin' hyena. That is, until Mark jumps him. I watch the fight spiral out of control as my younger brothers punch and kick each other.

They're good fighters, I think proudly as I watch them duke it out. But as the oldest male in the house, it's my duty to break it up. I grab the collar of Anthony's shirt but trip on Mark's leg and land on the floor with them.

Before I can regain my balance, icy cold water is poured on my back. Turning quickly, I catch mi'mama dousing us all, a bucket poised in her fist above us while she's wearing her work uniform. She works as a checker for the local grocery store a couple  
/blocks from our house. It doesn't pay a whole heck of a lot, but we don't need much.

"Get up," she orders, her fiery attitude out in full force.

"Shit, Ma," Anthony says, standing.

Mi'mama takes what's left in her bucket, sticks her fingers in the icy water, and flicks the liquid in Anthony's face.

Mark laughs and before he knows it, he gets flicked with water as well. Will they ever learn?

"Any more attitude, Mark?" she asks.

"No, ma'am," Mark says, standing as straight as a soldier.

"You have any more filthy words to come out of that boca of yours, Carlos?" She dips her hand in the water as a warning.

"No, ma'am," echoes soldier number two.

"And what about you, Austin?" Her eyes narrow into slits as she focuses on me.

"What? I was tryin' to break it up," I say innocently, giving her my you-can't-resist-me smile.

She flicks water in my face. "That's for not breaking it up sooner. Now get dressed, all of you, and come eat breakfast before school."

So much for my you-can't-resist-me smile. "You know you love us," I call after her as she leaves our room.

After a quick shower, I walk back to my bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. I catch sight of Mark with one of my bandannas on his head and my gut tightens. I yank it off him. "Don't ever touch this, Mark."

"Why not?" he asks, his deep brown eyes all innocent.

To Mark, it's a bandanna. To me, it's a symbol of what is and will never be. How the hell am I supposed to explain it to an eleven-year-old kid? He knows what I am. It's no secret the bandanna has the Latino Blood colors on it. Payback and revenge got  
/me in and now there's no way out. But I'll die before I let one of my brothers get sucked in.

I ball the bandanna in my fist. "Mark, don't touch my shit. Especially my Blood stuff."

"I like red and black."

That's the last thing I need to hear. "If I ever catch you wearin' it again, you'll be sportin' black and blue," I tell him. "Got it, little brother?"

He shrugs. "Yeah. I got it."

As he leaves the room with a spring in his step, I wonder if he really does get it. I stop myself from thinking too hard about it as I grab a black T-shirt from my dresser and pull on worn, faded jeans. When I tie my bandanna around my head, I hear mi'mama's  
/voice bellowing from the kitchen.

"Austin, come eat before the food gets cold. De prisa, hurry up."

"I'm comin'," I call back. I'll never understand why food is such an important part of her life.

My brothers are already busy chowing down on their breakfast when I enter the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and scan its contents.

"Sit down."

"Ma, I'll just grab-"

"You'll grab nothing, Michael. Sit. We're a family and we're going to eat like one."

I sigh, close the refrigerator door, and sit beside Anthony. Sometimes being a member of a close family has its disadvantages. Mi'ama places a heaping plate of huevos and tortillas in front of me.

"Why can't you call me Austin?" I ask, my head down while I stare at the food in front of me.]

"If I wanted to call you Austin, I wouldn't have bothered to name you Michael. Don't you like your given name?"

My muscles tense. I was named after a father who is no longer alive, leaving me the responsibility of being the designated man of the house. Michael, Austin Jr., Junior . . . it's all the same to me.

"Would it matter?" I mumble as I pick up a tortilla. I look up, trying to gauge her reaction.

Her back is to me as she cleans dishes in the sink. "No."

"Austin wants to pretend he's white," Anthony chimes in. "You can change your name, bro, but nobody'd mistake you for anythin' other than Mexicano."

"Anthony, collate la boca," I warn. I don't want to be white. I just don't want to be associated with my father.

"Por favor, you two," our mother pleads. "Enough fighting for one day."

"Mojado," Anthony sings, egging me on by calling me a wetback.

I've had enough of Anthony's mouth; he's gone too far. I stand, my chair scraping the floor. Anthony follows and steps in front of me, closing the space between us. He knows I could kick his ass. His overblown ego is gonna get him in trouble with the  
/wrong person one of these days.

"Anthony, sit down," mi'ama orders.

"Dirty beaner," Anthony drawls at me in a fake deep accent. "Better yet, es un Ganguero."

"Anthony!" mi'mama reprimands sharply as she comes forward, but I get in between them and grab my brother's collar.

"Yeah, that's all anyone will ever think of me," I tell him. "But you keep talkin' trash and they'll think that of you, too."

"Brother, they'll think that of me anyway. Whether I want them to or not."

I release him. "You're wrong, Anthony. You can do better, be better."

"Than you?"

"Yeah, better than me and you know it," I say. "Now apologize to mi'ama for talkin' smack in front of her."

One look in my eyes and Anthony knows I'm not kidding around. "Sorry, Ma," he says, then sits back down. I don't miss his glare, though, as his ego got knocked down a peg.

Mi'amd turns and opens the fridge, trying to hide her tears. Damn it, she's worried about Anthony. He's a sophomore and the next two years are either going to make him or break him.

I pull on my black leather jacket, needing to get out of here. I give mi'ama a peck on the cheek with an apology for ruining her breakfast, then walk outside wondering how I'm going to keep Carlos and Luis away from my path while steering them toward  
/a better one. Oh, the fucking irony of it all.

On the street, guys in the same color bandannas flag the Latino Blood signal: right hand tapping twice on their left arm while their ring finger is bent. My veins fire up as I flag right back before straddling my motorcycle. They want a tough-as-nails  
/gang member, they got one. I put on a hell of a show to the outside world; sometimes I even surprise myself.

"Austin, wait up," a familiar female voice calls out.

Carmen Sanchez, my neighbor and ex-girlfriend, runs up to me.

"Hey, Carmen," I mutter.

"How about giving me a ride to school?"

Her short black skirt shows off her incredible legs, and her shirt is tight, accentuating her small but perky chichis. Once I would have done anything for her, but that was before I caught her in another guy's bed over the summer. Or car, as it was.

"Come on, Austin. I promise not to bite . . . unless you want me to."

Carmen is my Latino Blood homegirl. Whether we're a couple or not, we still have each other's backs. It's the code we live by. "Get on," I say.

Carmen hops on my motorcycle and deliberately places her hands on my thighs while pressing against my backside. It doesn't have the effect she was probably hoping for. What does she think, that I'll forget the past? No way. My history defines who I am.

I try to focus on starting my senior year at Fairfield, the here and now. It's damn difficult because, unfortunately, after graduation my future will likely be as screwed up as my past.

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 **Please Review!**

 **Jesus Loves You❤️**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! I decided to post another chapter to the story to get it going some. Hope y'all liked the last chapter. All rights go to Simone Elkeles and Austin & Ally. I own nothing. Please please review though. I am one of those people who if I don't get feedback I feel like you don't like the story. So please review of you guys want more!**

* * *

 _ **Ally**_

"My hair gets all frizzy in this car, Trish. Everytime I put the top down, my hair looks like I've walked through a tornado," I say to my best friend as I drive on Vine Street toward Fairfield High in my new silver convertible.

"Outward appearances mean everything." My parents taught me the motto that rules my life. It's the sole reason I didn't comment about the BMW when my dad gave me the extravagant birthday present two weeks ago.

"We live a half hour from the Windy City," Trish says, holding her hand in the wind as we drive. "Miami isn't exactly known for its calm weather. Besides, you look like a brunette, Grecian goddess with wild hair, Ally. You're just nervous about seeing Ethan again."

My gaze wanders to the heart-shaped picture of me and Ethan taped to my dashboard. "A summer apart changes people."

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," Trish throws back. "You're the captain of the pom squad and he's captain of the varsity football team. You two have to date or the solar system would go out of alignment."

Ethan called a few times during the summer from his family's cabin, where he was hanging out with his buddies, but I don't know where our relationship stands now. He just got back last night.

"I love those jeans," Trish says, eyeing my faded Brazilian pants. "I'll be borrowing them before you know it."

"My mom hates them," I tell her, smoothing my hair at a stoplight, trying to tame my brown frizzies. "She says it looks like I got them at a used clothing store."

"Did you tell her vintage is in?"

"Yeah, like she'd even listen. She was hardly paying attention when I asked her about the new caretaker."

No one understands what it's like at my house. Luckily, I have Trish. She might not understand, but she knows enough to listen and keep my home life confidential. Besides Ethan, Trish is the only one who's met my sister.

Trish flips open my CD case. "What happened to the last caretaker?"

"Shelley pulled a chunk of her hair out."

"Ouch."

I drive into the high school parking lot with my mind more on my sister than on the road. My wheels screech to a stop when I almost hit a guy and girl on a motorcycle. I thought it was an empty parking space.

"Watch it, bitch," Carmen Sanchez, the girl on the back of the motorcycle, says as she flips me the finger.

She obviously missed the Road Rage lecture in Driver's Ed.

"Sorry," I say loudly so I can be heard over the roar of the motorcycle. "It didn't look like anyone was in this spot."

Then I realize whose motorcycle I almost hit. The driver turns around. Angry dark eyes. Red and black bandanna. I sink down into the driver's seat as far as I can.

"Oh, shit. It's Austin Moon," I say, wincing.

"Jesus, Als," Trish says, her voice low. "I'd like to live to see graduation. Get outta here before he decides to kill us both."

Austin is staring at me with his devil eyes while putting the kickstand down on his motorcycle. Is he going to confront me?

I search for reverse, frantically moving the stick back and forth. Of course it's no surprise my dad bought me a car with a stick shift without taking the time to teach me how to master driving the thing.

Austin takes a step toward my car. My instincts tell me to abandon the car and flee, as if I was stuck on railroad tracks with a train heading straight for me. I glance at Trish, who's desperately searching through her purse for something. Is she kidding me?

"I can't get this damn car in reverse. I need help. What are you looking for?" I ask.

"Like . . . nothing. I'm trying not to make eye contact with those Latino Bloods. Get a move on, will ya?" Trish responds through gritted teeth. "Besides, I only know how to drive an automatic."

Finally grinding into reverse, my wheels screech loud and hard as I maneuver backward and search for another parking spot.

After parking in the west lot, far from a certain gang member with a reputation that could scare off even the toughest Fairfield football players, Trish and I walk up the front steps of Fairfield High. Unfortunately, Austin Moon and the rest of his gang friends are hanging by the front doors.

"Walk right past them," Trish mutters. "Whatever you do, don't look in their eyes."

It's pretty hard not to when Austin Moon steps right in front of me and blocks my path.

What's that prayer you're supposed to say right before you know you're going to die?

"You're a lousy driver," Austin says with his slight Latino accent and full-blown I-AM-THE-MAN stance.

The guy might look like an Abercrombie model with his ripped bod and flawless face, but his picture is more likely to be taken for a mug shot.

The kids from the north side don't really mix with kids from the south side. It's not that we think we're better than them, we're just different. We've grown up in the same town, but on totally opposite sides. We live in big houses on Lake Michigan and they live next to the train tracks. We look, talk, act, and dress different. I'm not saying it's good or bad; it's just the way it is in Fairfield. And, to be honest, most of the south side girls treat me like Carmen Sanchez does . . . they hate me because of who I am.

Or, rather, who they think I am.

Austin's gaze slowly moves down my body, traveling the length of me before moving back up. It's not the first time a guy has checked me out, it's just that I never had a guy like Austin do it so blatantly . . . and so up-close. I can feel my face getting hot.

"Next time, watch where you're goin'," he says, his voice cool and controlled.

He's trying to bully me. He's a pro at this. I won't let him get to me and win his little game of intimidation, even if my stomach feels like I'm doing one hundred cartwheels in a row. I square my shoulders and sneer at him, the same sneer I use to push people away. "Thanks for the tip."

"If you ever need a real man to teach you how to drive, I can give you lessons."

Catcalls and whistles from his buddies set my blood boiling.

"If you were a real man, you'd open the door for me instead of blocking my way," I say, admiring my own comeback even as my knees threaten to buckle.

Austin steps back, pulls the door open, and bows like he's my butler. He's totally mocking me, he knows it and I know it. Everyone knows it. I catch a glimpse of Trish, still desperately searching for nothing in her purse. She's clueless.

"Get a life," I tell him.

"Like yours? Cabrona, let me tell you somethin'," Austin says harshly. "Your life isn't reality, it's fake. Just like you."

"It's better than living my life as a loser," I lash out, hoping my words sting as much as his words did. "Just like you."

Grabbing Trish's arm, I pull her toward the open door. Catcalls and comments follow us as we walk into the school.

I finally let out the breath I must have been holding, then turn to Trish.

My best friend is staring at me, all bug-eyed. "Holy shit, Als! You got a death wish or something?"

"What gives Austin Moon the right to bully everyone in his path?"

"Uh, maybe the gun he has hidden in his pants or the gang colors he wears," Trish says, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"He's not stupid enough to carry a gun to school," I reason. "And I refuse to be bullied, by him or anyone else." At school, at least. School is the one place I can keep up my "perfect" facade; everyone at school buys it. Suddenly pumped about starting my last year at Fairfield, I shake Trish's shoulders. "We're seniors now," I say with the same enthusiasm I use for pom-pom routines during football games.

"So?"

"So, starting right now everything is going to be p-e-r-f-e-c-t."

The bell rings, which is not exactly a bell because the student body voted last year to replace bells with music between classes. Right now they're playing "Summer Lovin'" from Grease. Trish starts walking down the hall. "I'll make sure you have a p-e-r-f-e-c-t funeral. With flowers and everything."

"Who died?" a voice from behind me asks.

I turn around. It's Ethan, brunette hair bleached from the summer sun and a grin so large it takes up almost his whole face. I wish I had a mirror to see if my makeup is smudged. But surely Ethan will date me even if it is, won't he? I run up and give him the biggest hug.

He holds me tight, kissed me lightly on the lips, and pulls back. "Who died?" he asks again.

"Nobody," I answer. "Forget about it. Forget everything except being with me."

"It's easy when you look so damn hot." Ethan kisses me again. "Sorry I haven't called. It's been so crazy unpacking and everything."

I smile up at him, glad our summer apart hasn't changed our relationship. The solar system is safe, at least for now.

Ethan drapes his arm around my shoulders as the front doors to the school open. Austin and his friends burst through as if they're here to hijack the school.

"Why do they even come to school?" Ethan mutters low so only I can hear. "Half of them will probably drop out before the year is over, anyway."

My gaze briefly meets Austin's and a shiver runs down my spine.

"I almost hit Austin Moon's motorcycle this morning," I tell Ethan once Austin is out of hearing range.

"You should have."

"Ethan," I chide.

"At least it would have been an exciting first day. This school is boring as shit."

Boring? I almost got in a car accident, was flipped off by a girl from the south side, and was harassed by a dangerous gang member outside the school's front doors. If that was any indication of the rest of senior year, this school will be anything but boring.

* * *

 **Please Review! One guest told me that while she was reading the first chapter she thought it'd be a good Auslly story. I thought so to, so that is why I am posting this! Probably want update till I get some reviews. SO PLEASE REVIEW!**  
 **  
**

 **JESUS LOVES YOU GUYS❤️**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! I'm back... You're probably like you've updatedeveryday! That would be because I literally have no life, but I am posting this earlier because I do have to go my sisters football game, she's a cheerleader. But I hope you guys liked the last chapter! Here's the new one! This one doesn't really have any drama to it, but it's building up the story! Enjoy**

* * *

 _ **Austin**_

I knew I'd be called into the new principal's office at some point during the year, but I didn't expect it to be on the first day of school. I heard Dr. Aguirre was hired because of his hard-ass personality at some high school in Milwaukee. Someone must  
have pegged me as a ringleader, 'cause it's my ass sitting here instead of another Latino Blood's.

So here I am, pulled out of gym so Aguirre can puff up his chest and ramble on about tougher school rules. I detect him feeling me out, wondering how I'll react, as he threatens me, ". . . and this year I've hired two full-time armed security guards,Austin  
."

His eyes focus on me, trying to intimidate. Yeah, right. I can tell right off that while Aguirre might be Latino, he knows nothing about how our streets work. The next thing I know he'll be talking about how he grew up poor, just like me. He's probably  
never even driven through my side of town. Maybe I should offer to give him a tour.

He stands in front of me. "I promised the superintendent as well as the school board I'd personally be responsible for rooting out the violence that has plagued this school for years. I won't hesitate to suspend anyone who ignores school rules."

I haven't done anything besides have a little fun with the pom-pom diva and already this guy is talking suspension. Maybe he heard about my suspension last year. That little incident got me kicked out for three days. It wasn't my fault. . . entirely.  
Dez had this crazy theory about cold water affecting white guys' dicks differently than Latinos'. I was arguing with him in the boiler room after he'd shut down the hot water heaters when we were caught.

I had nothing to do with it but got blamed all the same. Dez attempted to tell the truth, but our old principal wouldn't listen. Maybe if I fought more he would have listened. But what's the use in fighting for a lost cause?

It's clear Ally Dawson is responsible for me being in here today. You think her jerk of a boyfriend'll ever get called into Aguirre's office? No way. The dude is an idolized football player. He can ditch class and start fights and Aguirre will probably  
still kiss his ass. Ethan Adams is always pushing me, knowing he can get away with it. Every time I've been about to retaliate, he's found a way to escape or rush to where teachers were in abundance . . . teachers who were just waiting for me to fuck  
up.

One of these days. . . .

I look up at Aguirre. "I'm not startin' any fights." I might finish one, though.

"That's good," Aguirre says. "But I heard about you harassing a female student in the parking lot today."

Almost getting run over by Ally Dawson's shiny new Beemer is my fault? For the past three years I've managed to avoid the rich bitch. I heard last year she got a C on her report card but a little call to the school from her parents got it changed to an  
A.

It would hurt her chances of getting into a good college.

Screw that shit. If I got a C, mamawould smack me upside the head and nag me to study twice as hard. I've worked my ass off to get good grades, even though I've gotten interrogated more often than not about my means of getting the answers. As if  
I'd cheat. It's not about getting into college. It's about proving I could get in ... if my world was different.

The south siders might be seen as dumber than the north siders, but that's bullshit. So we're not as rich or obsessed with material possessions or getting into the most expensive and prestigious universities. We're in survival mode most of the time, always  
having to watch our backs.

Probably the hardest part of Ally Dawson's life is deciding which restaurant to dine at each night. The girl uses her smokin' bod to manipulate everyone who comes in contact with her.

"Care to share with me what happened in the parking lot? I'd like to hear your side," Aguirre says.

Not happening. I learned long ago that my side doesn't matter. "The thing this mornin' . . . total misunderstandin'," I tell him. Ally Dawson's misunderstanding that two vehicles can't fit in one spot.

Aguirre stands and leans over his polished, spotless desk. "Let's try not making misunderstandings a habit, okay, Michael Austin ?"

"Austin."

"Huh?"

"I go by Austin," I say. What he knows about me is in my school file, a file so biased it's probably ten inches thick.

Aguirre gives me a nod. "All right, Austin. Get ready for sixth period. But I have eyes at this school, and I'm watching your every move. I don't want to see you back in my office." Just as I get up, he puts a hand on my shoulder. "Just so you know, my  
goal is for every student in this school to succeed. Every student, Austin. Including you, so whatever biases you have about me you can throw them out the window. Me entiendes?"

"Si. Entiendo," I say, wondering how much I can believe him. In the hallway, a sea of students are rushing to their next class. I have no clue where I'm supposed to be and I'm still in my gym clothes.

In the locker room after I change, a song plays on the loudspeaker indicating it's now sixth period. I pull the schedule out of my back pocket. Chemistry with Mrs. Peterson. Great, another hard-ass to deal with.

* * *

 ** _Ally_**

I turn on my cell and call home before chemistry to see how my sister is doing. Baghda isn't too happy because Shelley was freaking out about the way her lunch tasted. Apparently Shelley swiped her bowl of yogurt onto the floor in protest.

Was it too much to hope that my mom would take a day off from hanging out at the country club to transition Baghda? Summer is officially over and I can't be there to pick up where the caretakers usually leave off.

I should be focusing on school. Getting into my dad's alma mater, Northwestern, is my main goal so I can go to a college close to home and be there for my sister. After giving Baghda some suggestions I take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and walk into  
class.

"Hey, babe. I saved you a seat." Ethan motions to the stool next to him.

The room is arranged with rows of high lab tables for two. This means I'll sit next to Ethan for the rest of the year and we'll do the dreaded senior chemistry project together. Feeling foolish for thinking things wouldn't be okay between us, I slip onto  
the stool and pull out my heavy chem book.

"Hey, look. Moon is in our class!" a guy calls out from the back of the room. "Austin, over here, ven pa'ca."

I try not to stare as Austin greets his friends with pats on the back and handshakes too complicated to reproduce. They all say "ese" to each other, whatever that means. Austin's presence catches every eye in the classroom.

"I hear he was arrested last weekend for possession of meth," Ethan whispers to me.

"No way."

He nods and his eyebrows go up. "Way."

Well, the information shouldn't surprise me. I hear most weekends Austin spends drugged out, passed out, or doing some other illegal activity.

Mrs. Peterson closes the door to the classroom with a bang and all eyes move from the back of the room, where Austin and his friends are sitting, to the front where Mrs. Peterson is standing. She has light brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.  
The woman is probably in her late twenties, but her glasses and perpetual stern expression make her look way older. I hear she's tough now because her first year teaching the students made her cry. They didn't respect a teacher who was young enough  
to be their older sister.

"Good afternoon and welcome to senior chemistry." She sits on the edge of her desk and opens a folder. "I appreciate you picking your own seats, but I make the seating arrangements . . . alphabetically."

I groan along with the rest of the class, but Mrs. Peterson doesn't miss a beat. She stands in front of the first lab table and says, "Ethan Adams, take the first seat. Your partner is Darlene Boehm."

Darlene Boehm is co-captain of the varsity pom squad with me. She flashes me an apologetic look as she slides onto the stool next to my boyfriend.

Down the list Mrs. Peterson goes, students reluctantly moving to their assigned seats.

"Ally Dawson," Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the table behind Ethan. I unenthusiastically sit on the stool at my assigned place.

"Michael Austin Moon," Mrs. Peterson says, pointing to the stool next to me.

Oh my God. Austin . . . my chemistry partner? For my entire senior year! No way, no how, SO not okay. I give Ethan a "help me" look as I try to avoid a panic attack. I definitely should have stayed at home. In bed. Under the covers. Forget not being intimidated.

"Call me Austin."

Mrs. Peterson looks up from her class list and regards Austin above the glasses on her nose. 'Austin Moon," she says, before changing his name on her list. "Mr. Moon, take off that bandanna. I have a zero tolerance policy in my class. No gang-related  
accessories are allowed to enter this room. Unfortunately, Austin, your reputation precedes you. Dr. Aguirre backs my zero tolerance policy one hundred percent ... do I make myself clear?"

Austin stares her down before sliding the bandanna off his head, exposing blond hair that matches his eyes.

"It's to cover up the lice," Ethan mutters to Darlene, but I hear him and Austin does, too.

"Vete a la verga," (Go to the yard) Austin says to Ethan, his hard eyes blazing. "Callate el hocico." (Shut the fuck up)

"Whatever, dude," Ethan says, then turns around. "He can't even speak English."

"That's enough, Ethan. Austin, sit down." Mrs. Peterson eyes the rest of the class. "That goes for the rest of you, as well. I can't control what you do outside of this room, but in my class I'm the boss." She turns back to Austin. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Si, senora," Austin says, deliberately slow.

Mrs. Peterson goes down the rest of the list while I do everything in my power not to make eye contact with the guy sitting next to me. It's too bad I left my purse in my locker or I could pretend to look for nothing like Trish did this morning.

"This sucks," Austin mumbles to himself. His voice is dark and husky. Does he make it that way on purpose?

How am I going to explain to my mother I have to partner with Austin Moon? Oh, God, I hope she doesn't blame me somehow for screwing this up.

I glance at my boyfriend, deep in conversation with Darlene. I'm so jealous. Why couldn't my last name be Allis instead of Dawson so I could sit next to him?

It'd be cool if God gave everyone a Do Over Day and you could yell "Do Over!" and the day would start new. This would definitely qualify for a DOD.

Does Mrs. Peterson actually think it's reasonable to pair the captain of the pom-pom squad with the most dangerous guy in school? The woman is delusional.

Mrs. Delusional finally finishes assigning seats. "I know you seniors think you know everything. But never think of yourself as a success until you can help treat diseases that plague mankind or make the earth a safer place to live. The field of chemistry  
plays a crucial role in developing medicines, radiation treatments for cancer patients, petroleum uses, the ozone-"

Austin raises his hand.

"Austin," the teacher says. "Do you have a question?"

"Uh, Mrs. Peterson, are you sayin' the president of the U.S. isn't a success?"

"What I'm saying is . . . money and status aren't everything. Use your brain and do something for mankind or the planet you live on. Then you're a success. And you'll have earned my respect, which not many people in this world can boast about."

"I got things I can boast about, Mrs. P.," Austin says, obviously amusing himself.

Mrs. Peterson holds up a hand. "Please spare us the details, Austin."

I shake my head. If Austin thinks antagonizing the teacher will get us a good grade, he's sadly mistaken. It's obvious Mrs. Peterson doesn't like smart-asses and my partner is already on her radar.

"Now," Mrs. Delusional says, "look at the person sitting next to you."

Anything but that. But I don't have a choice. I glance over at Ethan again, who seems pretty content with his assigned partner. Darlene already has a boyfriend or I seriously would be questioning why she's leaning a bit too close to Ethan and flipping  
her hair back too many times. I tell myself I'm being paranoid.

"You don't have to like your partner," Mrs. Peterson says, "but you're stuck together for the next ten months. Take five minutes to get to know each other, then each of you will introduce your partner to the class. Talk about what you did over the summer,  
what hobbies you have, or anything else interesting or unique your classmates might not know about you. Your five minutes start now."

I take out my notebook, flip to the first page, and shove it at Austin. "Why don't you write down stuff about yourself in my notebook and I'll do the same in yours." It's better than trying to have a conversation with him.

Austin nods in agreement, although I think I caught the corners of his mouth twitch as he hands me his notebook. Did I imagine that twitch or did it really happen? Taking a deep breath, I wipe that thought from my mind and write diligently until Mrs.  
Peterson instructs us to stop and listen to each other's introductions.

"This is Darlene Boehm," Ethan begins, being the first to speak.

But I don't hear the rest of Ethan's speech about Darlene and her trip to Italy and her experience at dance camp this summer. Instead, I glance down at the notebook given back to me by Austin and stare at the words on the page with my mouth open.

size="1" noshade=""

 **What do y'all think Austin wrote on her paper? Tell me what y'all think! I love to hear from y'all!**

 **GOD BLESS❤️**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys. I'm back with another update! I'm so sorry it took me this long to update, schools been a chapter is probably one of my favorites. Thank you to the people who did review! That made my whole day! One of y'all said they didn't understand the spanish part of Austin. I got this from a book called perfect chemistry, and one of the main characters Alex (Austin) is latino or mexican. So that explains it, if you were confused. Anyway hope y'all enjoy this update… on to the story (lol I know I'm lame) Please Review!All rights go to Simone Elkeles and Austin & Ally.**

* * *

_**Austin**_

Okay, so I shouldn't have fucked with her on the introduction thing. Writing nothing except, Saturday night. You and me. Driving lessons and hot sex ... in her notebook probably wasn't the smartest move. But I was itching to make Little Miss Perfecta  
stumble in her introduction of me. And stumbling she is.

"Miss Dawson?"

I watch in amusement as Perfection herself looks up at Peterson. Oh, she's good. This partner of mine knows how to hide her true emotions, something I recognize because I do it all the time.

"Yes?" Ally says, tilting her head and smiling like a beauty queen.

I wonder if that smile has ever gotten her out of a speeding ticket.

"It's your turn. Introduce Austin to the class."

I lean an elbow on the lab table, waiting for an introduction she has to either make up or fess up she knows less than crap about me. She glances at my comfortable position and I can tell from her deer-in-the-headlights look I've stumped her.

"This is Michael Austin Moon," she starts, her voice hitching the slightest bit. My temper flares at the mention of my given name, but I keep a cool facade as she continues with a made-up introduction. "When he wasn't hanging out on street corners  
and harassing innocent people this summer, he toured the inside of jails around the city, if you know what I mean. And he has a secret desire nobody would ever guess."

The room suddenly becomes quiet. Even Peterson straightens to attention. Hell, even I'm listening like the words coming out of Ally's lying, pink-frosted lips are gospel.

"His secret desire," she continues, "is to go to college and become a chemistry teacher, like you, Mrs. Peterson."

Yeah, right. I look over at my friend Isa, who seems amused that a white girl isn't afraid of giving me smack in front of the entire class.

Ally flashes me a triumphant smile, thinking she's won this round. Guess again, gringa.

I sit up in my chair while the class remains silent.

"This is Ally Dawson," I say, all eyes now focused on me. "This summer she went to the mall, bought new clothes so she could expand her wardrobe, and spent her daddy's money on plastic surgery to enhance her, ahem, assets."

It might not be what she wrote, but it's probably close enough to the truth. Unlike her introduction of me.

Chuckles come from my friends in the back of the class, and Ally is as stiff as a board beside me, as if my words hurt her precious ego. Ally Dawson is used to people fawning all over her and she could use a little wake-up call. I'm actually doing her  
a favor. Little does she know I'm not finished with her intro.

"Her secret desire," I add, getting the same reaction as she did during her introduction, "is to date a Mexicano before she graduates."

As expected, my words are met by comments and low whistles from the back of the room.

"Way to go, Moon," my friend Dallas barks out.

"I'll date you, mamacita," another says.

I give a high five to another Latino Blood named Marcus sitting behind me just as I catch Isa shaking her head as if I did something wrong. What? I'm just having a little fun with a rich girl from the north side.

Ally's gaze shifts from Ethan to me. I take one look at Ethan and with my eyes tell him game on. Ethan's face instantly turns bright red, resembling a chile pepper. I have definitely invaded his territory. Good.

"Quiet down, class," Peterson says sternly. "Thank you for those very creative and . . . enlightening introductions. Miss Dawson and Mr. Moon, please see me after class.

* * *

"Your introductions were not only appalling, they were disrespectful to me and the rest of your classmates," Peterson says after class as Ally and I stand in front of her desk. "You have a choice." Our teacher holds out two blue detention slips in one  
hand and two pieces of notebook paper in the other. "You can either serve detention today after school or write a five-hundred-word essay on 'respect' to hand in tomorrow. Which is it?"

I reach over and grab the detention slip. Ally reaches out for the notebook paper. Figures.

"Do either of you have a problem with the way I assign chemistry partners?" Peterson asks.

Ally says, "Yes," at the same time I say, "Nope."

Peterson sets her glasses on her desk. "Listen, you two better work out your differences before this year is up. Ally, I won't be assigning you a different partner. You're both seniors and will have to deal with a plethora of people and personalities  
after you graduate. If you don't want to go to summer school for flunking my class, I suggest you work together instead of against each other. Now hurry to your next class."

With that, I follow my little chem partner out of the room and down the hall.

"Stop following me," she snaps, looking over her shoulder to check how many people are watching us walk down the hall together.

As if I'm el diablo himself.

"Wear long sleeves on Saturday night," I tell her, knowing full well she's reaching the end of her sanity rope. I usually don't try to get under the skin of white chicks, but this one is fun to rattle. This one, the most popular and coveted one of all,  
actually cares. "It gets pretty cold on the back of my motorcycle."

"Listen, Austin," she says, whipping herself around and tossing that beautiful hair over her shoulder. She faces me with clear eyes made of chocolate. "I don't date guys in gangs, and I don't use drugs."

"I don't date guys in gangs, either," I say, stepping closer to her. "And I'm no user."

"Yeah, right. I'm surprised you're not in rehab or some juvenile boot camp."

"You think you know me?"

"I know enough." She folds her arms across her chest, but then looks down as if she realizes her stance makes her chichis stand out, and drops her hands to her sides.

I'm doing my best not to focus on those chichis as I take a step forward. "Did you report me to Aguirre?"

She takes a step back. "What if I did?"

"Mujer, you're afraid of me." It's not a question. I just want to hear from her own lips what her reason is.

"Most people at this school are scared that if they look at you wrong, you'll gun them down."

"Then my gun should be smokin' by now, shouldn't it? Why aren't you runnin' away from the badass Mexicano, huh?"

"Give me half a chance, I will."

I've had enough of dancing around this little bitch. It's time to fluff up those feathers to make sure I end up with the upper hand. I close the distance between us and whisper in her ear, "Face the facts. Your life is too perfect. You probably lie awake  
at night, fantasizing about spicin' up all that lily whiteness you live in." But damn it, I get a whiff of vanilla from her perfume or lotion. It reminds me of cookies. I love cookies, so this is not good at all. "Gettin' near the fire, chica, doesn't  
necessarily mean you'll get burned."

"You touch her and you'll regret it, Moon," Ethan's voice rings out. He resembles a burro, with his big white teeth and ears sticking out from his buzz cut. "Get the hell away from her."

"Ethan," Ally says. "It's okay. I can handle this."

Burro Face brought reinforcements: three other pasty white dudes, standing behind him for backup. I size up Burro Face and his friends to see if I can take them all on, and decide I could give all four a run for their money. "When you're strong enough  
to play in the big leagues, jock boy, then I'll listen to the crap flyin' out of your mouth," I say.

Other students are gathering around us, leaving room for a fight that is sure to be fast, furious, and bloody. Little do they know Burro Face is a runner. This time he's got backup, though, so maybe he'll stay to duke it out. I'm always prepared for a  
fight, been in more of 'em than I can count on my fingers and toes. I've got the scars to prove it.

"Ethan, he's not worth it," Ally says.

Thanks, mamacita. Right back at ya.

"You threatening me, Moon?" Ethan barks, ignoring his girlfriend.

"No, asshole," I say, staring him down. "Little dicks like you make threats."

Ally parks her body in front of Ethan and puts her hand on his chest. "Don't listen to him," she says.

"I'm not afraid of you. My dad's a lawyer," Ethan brags, then puts his arm around Ally. "She's mine. Don't ever forget that."

"Then keep a leash on her," I advise. "Or she might be tempted to find a new owner."

My friend Dez comes up beside me. "You okay, Austin?"

"Yeah, Dez," I tell him, then watch as two teachers walk down the hall escorted by a guy in a police uniform. This is what Adams wants, perfectly planned to get my ass kicked out of school. I'm not falling into his trap only to end up on Aguirre's hit  
list. "Si, everything's bien." I turn to Ally. "Catch ya later, mamacita. I'm looking forward to researching our chemistry."

Before I leave and save myself from suspension on top of my detention, Ally sticks that perky nose of hers in the air as if I'm the scum of the earth.

* * *

 _ **Ally**_

After school I'm at my locker when my friends Morgan, Madison, and Megan come up to me. Trish calls them the Fairfield M-factor.

Morgan hugs me. "Oh my God, are you okay?" she asks, pulling away and examining me.

"I heard Ethan protected you. He's amazing. You're so lucky, Als," Madison says, her signature curls bouncing with each word.

"It wasn't a big deal," I say, wondering what the rumor is in contrast to what really happened.

"What exactly did Austin say?" Megan asks. "Caitlin took a picture on her cell of Austin and Ethan in the hallway, but I couldn't make out what was going on."

"You guys better not be late for practice," Darlene yells from the end of the hallway. Just as quickly as Darlene appeared, she's gone.

Megan opens her locker, which is next to mine, and pulls out her poms. "I hate the way Darlene kisses Ms. Small's butt," she says under her breath.

I close my locker and we walk toward the practice field. "I think she's trying to focus on dance instead of obsessing about Tyler going back to college."

Morgan rolls her eyes. "Whatever. I don't even have a boyfriend so she gets zero sympathy from me."

"No sympathy from my end, either. Seriously, when is that girl not dating someone?" Madison asks.

When we reach the practice field, our entire squad is sitting on the grass waiting for Ms. Small. Phew, we're not late.

"I still can't believe you got stuck with Austin Moon," Darlene says quietly to me as I find an open spot beside her.

"Wanna switch partners?" I ask, although Mrs. Peterson would never allow it. She made that crystal clear.

Darlene sticks her tongue out in full gross-out mode and whispers, "No way. I never go slumming on the south side. Mixing with that crowd'll get you nothing but trouble. Remember last year when Alyssa McDaniel dated that one guy . . . what was his name?"

"Jason Avila?" I say in a low voice.

Darlene does a little shiver. "In a matter of weeks Alyssa went from being cool to being an outcast. The south side girls hated her for taking one of their guys and she stopped hanging with us. The confused little couple was on an island all alone. Thank  
God Alyssa broke up with him."

Ms. Small walks toward us with her CD player, complaining about someone moving it from her usual spot and that's why she's late.

When Ms. Small tells us to stretch, Trish nudges Darlene over so she can talk to me.

"You are in big trouble, girl," Trish says.

"Why?"

Trish has "super" eyes and ears; she knows everything going on at Fairfield.

My best friend says, "Rumor has it Carmen Sanchez is looking for you."

Oh, no. Carmen is Austin's girlfriend. I'm trying not to freak out and think the worst, but Carmen is tough, from her red-painted fingernails all the way down to her black, stiletto-heeled boots. Is she jealous I'm Austin's chem partner, or does she think  
I reported her boyfriend to the principal today?

The truth is I didn't report him. I got called into Dr. Aguirre's office because someone who'd seen the parking incident and witnessed our confrontation on the steps this morning reported it. Which was ridiculous because nothing happened.

Aguirre didn't believe me. He thought I was too scared to tell him the truth. I wasn't scared then.

But I am now.

Carmen Sanchez can kick my butt any day of the week. She probably practices with weapons, and the only weapon I know how to use is, well, my pom-poms. Call me crazy but somehow I doubt my poms will scare off a girl like Carmen.

Maybe in a word war I would make a good showing, but definitely not in a fistfight. Guys fight because of some primal, innate gene that makes them prove themselves physically.

Maybe Carmen wants to prove something to me, but there is seriously no need. I'm no threat, but how do I let her know that? It's not like I'm going to go up to her and say, "Hey, Carmen, I'm not going to make a move on your boyfriend and I never reported  
him to Dr. Aguirre." Or maybe I should. . . .

Most people think nothing bothers me. I'm not going to let them know something does. I've worked too long and hard to keep up this facade and I'm not about to lose it all because some gang member and his girlfriend are testing me.

"I'm not worrying about it," I tell Trish.

My best friend shakes her head. "I know you, Als. You're stressing," she whispers.

Now that statement worries me more than the idea of Carmen looking for me. Because I try really hard to keep everyone at a distance . . . not really knowing what it's truly like to be me or what it's like to live at my house. But I've let Trish know more  
about me than everyone else. I wonder if I should back off from our friendship sometimes, to make sure she's kept at arm's length.

Logically, I know I'm paranoid. Trish is a true friend; she was even there when I cried last year about my mom's nervous breakdown but never revealed the reason. She let me cry it out, even when I refused to give her details.

I don't want to end up like my mom. That's my biggest fear in life.

Ms. Small has us get in formation, then plays the custom music made for our squad by the music department while I count off. It's a mixture of hip-hop and rap music, specially mixed for our routine. We've titled our routine "Big, Bad Bulldogs" because  
our team mascot is the bulldog. My body hums to the beat. That's what I love about being part of the squad. It's the music that pulls me in and makes me forget about my problems at home. Music is my drug, the one thing that makes me numb.

"Ms. Small, can we try starting in the broken T position instead of the T position like we previously practiced?" I say. "Then go into the low V and high V combos with Morgan, Isabel, and Caitlin moving to the front. I think it'll look cleaner."

Ms. Small smiles, obviously pleased with my suggestion. "Good idea, Ally. Let's try it. We'll start in the broken T position, elbows bent. During the transition I want Morgan, Isabel, and Caitlin in the front row. Remember to keep your shoulders down.  
Trish, please make your wrists an extension of your arms instead of bending them."

"Yes, ma'am," Trish says from behind me.

Ms. Small plays the music again. The beat, the lyrics, the instruments . . . they all seep into my veins and lift me up no matter how low I feel. As I dance in sync with the other girls, I forget about Carmen, Austin, my mom and everything else.

The song is over too quickly. I still want to move to the beat and the lyrics when Ms. Small turns off her CD player. The second time around is better, but our formation needs work and some of the new girls are having a hard time with the steps.

"Ally, you teach the basic moves to the new girls and then we'll try it as a group again. Darlene, you lead the rest of the squad in reviewing the steps," Ms. Small instructs as she hands me the CD player.

Isabel is in my group. She kneels down to take a drink from her water bottle. "Don't worry about Carmen," she says. "Most of the time her bark is worse than her bite."

"Thanks," I say. Isabel looks tough, with her red Latino Blood bandanna, three eyebrow rings, and hands always folded on her chest when she's not doing the routines. But she has kind eyes. And smiles a lot. Her smile softens her harsh appearance, although  
if she put a pink bow in her hair instead of a red Latino Blood bandanna I bet she'd actually look girly. "You're in my chemistry class, aren't you?" I ask.

She nods.

"And you know Austin Moon?"

She nods again.

"Are the rumors about him true?" I ask carefully, not knowing how she's going to react to my prying. If I'm not careful, I'll have a long list of people who are out to get me.

Isabel's long brown hair moves as she talks. "Depends on which ones you're referring to."

As I'm about to rattle off the list of rumors outlining Austin's drug use and police arrests, Isabel stands. "Listen, Ally," she says. "You and me, we'll never be friends. But I have to tell you, no matter how much of a jerk Austin was to you today, he's  
not as bad as the rumors. He's even not as bad as he'd like to think he is."

Before I can ask another question, Isabel is back in formation.

* * *

After practice I walk to my car with Trish, who's busy texting her boyfriend, Jace, on her cell.

A piece of paper is tucked under one of my windshield wipers. I pull it off. It's Austin's blue detention slip. Crumpling it up, I shove it into my book bag.

"What was that?" Trish asks.

"Nothing," I say, hoping she gets the hint that I don't want to talk about it.

"Guys, wait up!" Darlene yells, running up to us. "I saw Ethan on the football field. He said to wait for him."

I look at my watch. It's almost six and I want to get home to help Baghda make my sister's dinner. "I can't."

"Jace texted me back," Trish says, "He's invited us for pizza at his house."

"I can come," Darlene says. "I've been so bored now that Tyler is back at Purdue and I probably won't see him for weeks."

Trish is still texting away. "I thought you were gonna visit him next weekend."

Darlene stands with her hands on her hips. "Well, that was until he called and said all the pledges in the fraternity had to sleep at the frat house for some crazy initiation thing. As long as Tyler's penis is intact when it's all over, I'm happy."

At the mention of "penis," I search for my keys in my purse. When Darlene gets to talking about penises and sex, stand back because she never stops. And since I'm not one to share my sexual experiences (or lack thereof), I'm out of here. A perfect time  
to escape.

As I dangle my keys on my fingers, Trish tells me she'll get a ride from Jace, so I'm alone during the drive home. I like being alone. Nobody to put on an act for. I can even blast the music if I want.

Enjoying the music is short-lived, though, when I feel my phone vibrate. I pull my cell out of my pocket. Two voice messages and one text message. All from Ethan.

I call him on his cell. "Als, where are you?" he asks.

"On my way home."

"Come over to Jace's."

"My sister has a new caretaker," I explain. "I have to help her out."

"Are you still pissed because I threatened your gangbanger chemistry partner?"

"I'm not pissed. I'm annoyed. I told you I could handle it and you totally ignored me. And you caused a whole scene in the hallway. You know I didn't ask to be partners with him," I tell Ethan.

"I know, Als. I just hate that guy. Don't be mad." "I'm not," I say. "I just hate seeing you get all riled up for no reason." "And I hated seeing that guy whispering in your ear." I feel a headache coming on, full force. I don't need Ethan to make a scene  
every time a guy so much as talks to me. He's never done that before and it left me open for more scrutiny and gossip, something I never want to happen. "Let's just forget it ever happened."

"Fine by me. Call me tonight," he says. "But if you can get out early and can come to Jace's, I'll be there."

When I get home, Baghda is in Shelley's room on the first floor. She's attempting to change her special leak-proof undergarments, but she has Shelley in the wrong position. Her head is usually where her feet are, one leg is dangling off the bed . . .  
it's a disaster and Baghda is huffing and puffing as if it's the most difficult task she's ever attempted. Did my mom check her credentials?

"I'll do it," I tell Baghda, pushing her aside and taking over. I've changed my sister's underwear since we were kids. It's not fun changing the undergarments of a person who weighs more than you do, but if you do it right it doesn't take long and it  
doesn't become a big, drawn-out deal.

My sister smiles wide when she sees me. "Als!" My sister can't enunciate words, but she uses verbal approximations. "Als" means "Ally," and I smile back while situating her better on her bed. "Hey, girlie girl. You hungry for dinner?" I ask as I pull  
wipes from the container and try not to think about the task I'm doing.

As I slip new leak-proof underwear on her and slide her legs into a fresh pair of sweats, Baghda watches from the sidelines. I try explaining while doing the task, but one glance at Baghda and I can tell she's not listening.

"Your mother said I can leave when you got home," Baghda says.

"That's fine," I say as I wash my hands, and before I know it Baghda has Houdini'd on me.

I wheel Shelley into the kitchen. Our usually pristine kitchen is a disaster. Baghda hasn't cleaned up the dishes, which are now piled in the sink, and she didn't do such a hot job of wiping the floor after Shelley's earlier mess.

I prepare Shelley's dinner and wipe up the mess.

Shelley drawls out the word "school," which really sounds like "cool," but I know what she means.

"Yeah, it was my first day back," I tell her as I blend her food and set it on the table. I spoon soupy food into her mouth while I keep talking. "And my new chemistry teacher, Mrs. Peterson, should be a boot camp instructor. I scanned the syllabus. The  
woman can't go a week without scheduling a test or a quiz. This year isn't going to be easy."

My sister looks at me, decoding what I've told her. Her intense expression says she's giving me support and understanding without having to say the words. Because every word that comes out of her mouth is a struggle. Sometimes I want to say the words  
for her because I feel her frustration as if it's my own.

"You didn't like Baghda?" I ask quietly.

My sister shakes her head. And she doesn't want to talk about it; I can tell by the way she tenses her mouth.

"Be patient with her," I tell her. "It's not easy coming into a new house and not knowing what to do."

When Shelley finishes eating, I bring her magazines so she can scan them. My sister loves magazines. While she's busy flipping pages, I stick some cheese between two slices of bread for my own dinner then sit at the table to start my homework while I  
eat.

* * *

It's ten forty-five before I finally finish the respect paper for Mrs. Peterson and help my mom put Shelley to bed. I'm so exhausted my head feels as if it's about to fall off.

Sliding into bed after I've changed into my pj's, I dial Ethan's number.

"Hey, babe," he says. "What're you up to?"

"Not much. I'm in bed. Did you have fun at Jace's?"

"Not as much fun as I would've had if you were there."

"When did you get back?"

"About an hour ago. I'm so glad you called."

I pull my big pink comforter up to my chin and sink my head into my fluffy down pillow. "Oh, really?" I say, fishing for a compliment and speaking with my flirty voice. "Why?"

He hasn't told me he loves me in a long time. I know he's not the most affectionate person in the world. My dad isn't, either. I need to hear it from Ethan. I want to hear he loves me. I want to hear he missed me. I want to hear him say I'm the girl of  
his dreams.

Ethan clears his throat. "We've never had phone sex."

Okay, those so aren't the words I expected. I shouldn't be disappointed or surprised. He's a teenage guy and I know guys are focused on sex and fooling around. This afternoon I pushed away the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I read Austin's words  
about having hot sex. Little does he know I'm a virgin.

Ethan and I have never had sex, period. Phone sex or real sex. We got close in April last year at the beach behind Trish's house, but I chickened out. I wasn't ready.

"Phone sex?"

"Yeah. Touch yourself, Als. And then tell me what you're doing. It'll totally turn me on."

"While I'm touching myself, what'll you be doing?" I ask him.

"Choking the gopher. What'd you think I'd do, my homework?"

I laugh. Mostly it's a nervous laugh because we haven't seen each other in a couple of months, we haven't talked all that much, and now he wants to go from "hi, nice to see you after a summer apart" to "touch yourself while I choke the gopher" in one  
day. I feel like I'm in the middle of a Pat McCurdy song.

"Come on, Als," Ethan says. "Think of it as practice before we do the real thing. Take off your shirt and touch yourself."

"Ethan . . . ," I say.

"What?"

"Sorry, but I'm not into it. Not now, at least."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You mad?"

"No," he says. "I thought it'd be fun to spice up our relationship."

"I didn't know we were boring."

"School . . . football practice . . . hanging out. I guess after a summer away I'm sick of the same old routine. The entire summer I've been waterskiing, wakeboarding, and off-roading. Things that get your heart racing and blood pumping, you know? Pure  
adrenaline rush."

"Sounds awesome."

"It was. Als?"

"Yeah."

"I'm ready for that adrenaline rush . . . with you."

* * *

 _ **Austin**_

I push the guy up against a sweet, shiny black Camaro, one that probably cost more than my mom makes in a year. "Here's the deal, Blake," I say. "You either pay up now, or I break somethin' of yours. Not a piece of furniture or your fuckin' car . . .  
somethin' you're permanently attached to. Get it?"

Blake, skinnier than a telephone pole and as pale as a ghost, is looking at me as if I just handed him his death sentence. He should have thought about that before he took the Big 8 and bounced without paying up.

As if Hector would ever let that happen.

As if I would ever let that happen.

When Hector sends me to collect, I do it. I may not like doing it, but I do it. He knows I won't do drug deals or break into people's homes or businesses to steal shit. But I'm good at collecting . . . debts, mostly. Sometimes it's people, but those get  
to be messy affairs, especially because I know what's gonna happen to them once I haul them back to the warehouse to face Chuy. Nobody wants to face Chuy. It's way worse than facing me. Blake should feel Dallas I'm the one assigned to look for him.

To say I don't live a squeaky-clean life is an understatement. I try not to dwell on it, the dirty job I'm doing for the Blood. And I'm good at it. Scaring people into paying us what's ours is my job. Technically my hands are clean of drugs. Okay, so  
drug money does touch my hands quite frequently, but I just hand it over to Hector. I don't use it, I just collect it.

I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it, ignoring Fairfield's no-smoking policy. I've been smoking a lot lately. Dez pointed it out yesterday night when we hung out.

"So what if she's white? Come on, Austin. Don't be an idiot. Look at her."

I take a glance. I admit she's got it goin' on. Long, shiny hair, aristocratic nose, slightly tanned arms with a hint of muscle in her biceps to make you wonder if she works out, full lips that when she smiles you think world peace is possible if everyone  
had her smile.

I shove those thoughts from my mind. So what if she's hot? She's a first-degree bitch. "Too skinny," I blurt out.

"You want her," Dallas says, leaning back on the grass. "You just know, like the rest of us Mexicanos from the south side, that you can't have her."

Something inside me clicks on. Call it my defense mechanism. Call it cockiness. Before I can switch it off, I say, "In two months I could have a piece of that ass. If you really wanna bet your RX-7, I'm in."

"You're trippin', man." When I don't answer, Dallas frowns. "You serious, Austin?"

The guy will back down, he loves his car more than his mama. "Sure."

"If you lose, I get Julio," Dallas says, his frown turning into a wicked grin.

Julio is my most prized possession, an old Honda Nighthawk 750 motorcycle. I rescued it from a dump and turned it into a sleek ride. Rebuilding the bike took me forever. It's the only thing in my life I've made better instead of destroying.

Dallas is not backing down. Time to either back down myself or play the game. The problem is, I've never backed down . . . not once in my life.

The most popular white chick at school would sure as hell learn a lot by hanging with me. Little Miss Perfecta said she'd never date a gang member, but I bet no Latino Blood ever tried to get into those designer pants.

Easy as a fight between Folks and People-rival gangs on a Saturday night.

I bet all it'll take for Ally to come around is a bit of flirting. You know, that give-and-take wordplay that heightens your awareness of the opposite sex. I can kill two birds with one stone: get back at Burro Face by taking his girl and get back at  
Ally Dawson for having me called into the principal's office and dissin' me in front of her friends.

Might even be fun.

I imagine the entire school witnessing the pristine white chick drooling over the Mexicano she vowed to hate. I wonder how hard she'll fall on that tight white ass when I'm done with her.

I hold out my hand. "Deal."

"You gotta show proof."

I take another drag of my cigarette. "Dallas, what do you want me to do? Pluck out one of her fuckin' pubes?"

"How'd we know it's hers?" Dallas responds. "Maybe she's not a real brunette. Besides, she pro'bly gets one of those Brazilian wax jobs. You know, where everythin' is-"

"Take a picture," Pedro suggests. "Or video. I bet we could make muchos billetes on that thing. We can title it Ally Goes South of the Border."

It's trash-talkin' times like these that give us a bad rep. Not that rich kids don't talk trash, I'm sure they do. But when my friends go at it, it's no-holds-barred. To be honest, I think my friends are damn entertaining when they're ragging on someone  
else. When they're ragging on me, I don't find it half as funny.

"What'cha talkin' about?" Dez asks, joining us with a plate of food from the cafeteria.

"I bet Austin my car for his motorcycle he can't get into Ally Dawson's pants by Thanksgiving."

"You loco, Austin?" Dez says. "Makin a bet like that is suicide."

"Lay off, Dez," I warn. It isn't suicide. Stupid, maybe. But not suicide. If I could handle hot Carmen Sanchez, I can handle vanilla cookie Ally Dawson.

"Ally Dawson is out of your league, amigo. You might be a pretty boy, but you're one hundred percent Mexicano and she's as white as Wonder Bread."

A junior named Leticia Gonzalez walks by us. "Hi, Austin," she says, flashing me a smile before sitting with her friends. While the other guys drool over Leticia and talk to her friends, Dez and I are left alone by the tree.

Dez nudges me. "Now she's a bonita Mexicana, and definitely in your league."

My eye isn't on Leticia, it's on Ally. Now that the game's on, I'm focusing on the prize. It's time to start flirting, but no bullshit come-on lines will work with her. Somehow I think she's used to those from her boyfriend and other ass**les trying to  
get into her pants.

I decide on a new tactic, one she won't expect. I'm going to keep ruffling her feathers until I'm all she thinks about. And I'll start next period when she's forced to sit next to me. Nothing like a little foreplay in chemistry class to spark things up.

"Carajo!" (Fuck) Dez says, throwing down his lunch. "They think they can buy a U-shaped shell, stuff it, and call it a taco, but those cafeteria workers wouldn't know taco meat from a piece of shit. That's what this tastes like, Austin."

"You're makin' me sick, man," I tell him.

I stare uncomfortably at the food I brought from home. Thanks to Dez everything looks like mierda now. Disgusted, I shove what's left of my lunch into my brown paper bag.

"Want some of it?" Dez says with a grin as he holds out the shitty taco to me.

"Bring that one inch closer to me and you'll be sorry," I threaten.  
"I'm shakin' in my pants."

Dez wiggles the offending taco, goading me. He should seriously know better.

"If any of that gets on me-"

"What'cha gonna do, kick my ass?" Dez sings sarcastically, still shaking the taco. Maybe I should punch him in the face, knocking him out so I won't have to deal with him right now.

As I have that thought, I feel something drop on my pants. I look down even though I know what I'll see. Yes, a big blob of wet, gloppy stuff passing as taco meat lands right on the crotch of my faded jeans.

"Fuck," Dez says, his face quickly turning from amusement to shock. "Want me to clean it off for you?"

"If your fingers get anywhere close to my dick, I'm gonna personally shoot you in the huevos," I growl through clenched teeth.

I flick the mystery meat off my crotch. A big, greasy stain lingers. I turn back to Dez. "You got ten minutes to get me a new pair of pants."

"How the hell am I s'posed to do that?"

"Be creative."

"Take mine." Dez stands and brings his fingers to the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning right in the middle of the courtyard.

"Maybe I wasn't specific enough," I tell him, wondering how I'm going to act like the cool guy in chem class when it looks like I've peed in my pants. "I meant, get me a new pair of pants that will fit me, pendejo. You're so short you could audition to  
be one of Santa Claus's elves."

"I'm toleratin' your insults because we're like brothers."

"Nine minutes and thirty seconds."

It doesn't take Dez more than that to start running toward the school parking lot.

I seriously don't give a crap how I get the pants; just that I get 'em before my next class. A wet crotch is not the way to show Ally I'm a stud.

I wait at the tree while other kids throw away their lunches and head back inside. Before I know it, music starts playing through the loudspeakers and Dez is nowhere in sight. Great. Now I have five minutes to get to Peterson's class. Gritting my teeth,  
I walk to chemistry with my books strategically placed in front of my crotch, with two minutes to spare. I slide onto the stool and push it as close to the lab table as possible, hiding the stain.

Ally walks into the room, her brown hair falling down the front of her chest, ending in perfect little curls that bounce when she walks. Instead of that perfection turning me on, it makes me want to mess it all up.

I wink at her when she glances at me. She huffs and pulls her stool as far away from me as possible.

Remembering Mrs. Peterson's zero-tolerance rule, I pull my bandanna off and place it in my lap directly over the stain. Then I turn to the pom-pom chick sitting next to me. "You're gonna have to talk to me at some point."

"So your girlfriend can have a reason to beat me up? No thanks, Austin. I'd rather keep my face the way it is."

"I don't have a girlfriend. You want to interview for the position?" I scan her from top to bottom, focusing on the parts she relies on so heavily.

She curls her pink-frosted top lip and sneers at me. "Not on your life."

"Mujer, you wouldn't know what to do with all this testosterone if you had it in your hands."

That's it, Austin. Tease her into wanting you. She'll take the bait.

She turns away from me. "You're disgusting."

"What if I said we'd make a great couple?"

"I'd say you were an idiot."

* * *

 **What did y'all think? Hope you guys liked it. Did you guys expect Austin to write that in Ally's notebook? What do you guys think about the bet? Please, Please Review! I'll try to update as soon as I can!  
**

 ****

 **GOD BLESS!❤️**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys I'm back! I wasn't going to update because I only had one review, but it's snowing/sleeting where I live (North Carolina) and I'm kinda I hope y'all like this chapter as much as I do! Please review! All rights go to Perfect Chemistry and Austin and Ally. I don't own anything!**

* * *

 _ **Ally**_

Right after I called Austin an idiot, Mrs. Peterson calls the class to attention. "You and your partner will pick a project from this hat," she announces.

"They are all equally challenging and will require meeting with your partner outside of class."

"What about football?" Ethaninterjects. "No way I'm missing practice."

"Or poms," Darlene chimes in before I can say the same thing.

"Schoolwork comes first. It's up to you and your partner to find a time that works for both of you," Mrs. Peterson says as she stands in front of our table and holds out the hat.

"Yo, Mrs. P., is one of them a cure for multiple sclerosis?" Austin asks with his cocky attitude that's setting my nerves on edge. "Cause I don't think there's enough time in the school year to complete that project."

I can see that big D on my report card right now. The Northwestern admissions counselor won't care that it was my chemistry partner who wanted to make a joke out of our project. The guy doesn't care about his own life, why should he care about chemistry  
/class?

The thought of Austin controlling the grade I receive in this class is overwhelming me. Grades to my parents are a reflection of your worth. Needless to say, a C or D means you're worthless.

I reach into the hat and pull out a little white slip of paper. I open it slowly while I bite my lower lip in anticipation. In bold letters I read _HAND_ _WARMERS_.

"Hand warmers?" I question.

Austin leans over and reads the paper with a confused look on his face. "What the fuck are hand warmers?"

Mrs. Peterson shoots Austin a warning glare. "If you'd like to stay after school, I have another blue detention slip on my desk with your name already on it. Now, either ask the question again without using foul language or join me after school."

"That'd be cool to hang with you, Mrs. P, but I'd rather spend the time studyin' with my chem partner," Austin responds, then has the nerve to wink at Ethan, "so I'll rephrase the question.

What exactly are hand warmers?"

"Thermal chemistry, Mr. Moon. We use them to warm our hands."

Austin has this big, cocky grin as he turns to me.

"I'm sure we can find other things to warm."

"I hate you," I say loud enough for Ethan and the rest of the class to hear. If I sit here and let him get the best of me, I'll probably hear my mom tsk'ing in my head about reputations meaning everything.

I know the class is watching our interaction, even Piper, who thinks Austin isn't as bad as everyone thinks he is. Can't she see him for what he is, or is she blinded by his chiseled face and popular status among their friends?

Austin whispers, "There's a thin line between love and hate. Maybe you're confusing your emotions."

I scoot away from him. "I wouldn't bet on it."

"I would."

Austin's gaze turns toward the door to the classroom. Through the window, his friend is waving to him. They're probably going to ditch class.

Austin grabs his books and stands.

Mrs. Peterson turns around. "Austin, sit down."

"I gotta piss."

The teacher's eyebrows furrow and her hand goes to her hip. "Watch your language. And the last time I checked, you don't need your books in order to go to the restroom. Put them back on the lab table."

Austin's lips are tight, but he places the books back on the table.

"I told you no gang-related items in my class," Mrs. Peterson says, staring at the bandanna he's holding in front of him. She holds out her hand.

"Hand it over." He glances at the door, then faces Mrs. Peterson. "What if I refuse?"

"Austin, don't test me. Zero tolerance. You want a suspension?" She wiggles her fingers, signaling to hand the bandanna over immediately or else.

Scowling, he slowly places the bandanna in her hand. Mrs. Peterson sucks in her breath when she snatches the bandanna from his fingers.

I screech, "Oh my God!" at the sight of the big stain on his crotch.

The students, one by one, start laughing.

Ethan laughs the loudest. "Don't sweat it, Moon. My great-grandma has the same problem.

Nothing a diaper won't fix."

Now that hits home because at the mention of adult diapers, I immediately think of my sister.

Making fun of adults who can't help themselves isn't funny because Shelley is one of those people.

Austin sports a big, cocky grin and says to Ethan,

"Your girlfriend couldn't keep her hands out of my pants. She was showin' me a whole new definition of hand warmers, compa."

This time he's gone too far. I stand up, my stool scraping the floor.

"You wish," I say.

Austin is about to say something to me when Mrs. Peterson yells, "Austin!" She clears her throat.

"Go to the nurse and ... fix yourself. Take your books, because afterward you'll be seeing . I'll meet you in his office with your friends Dallas and Ally ."

Austin swipes his books off the table and exits the classroom while I ease back onto my stool. While Mrs. Peterson is trying to calm the rest of the class, I think about my short-lived success in avoiding Brooke Sanchez.

If she thinks I'm a threat to her relationship with Austin, the rumors that are sure to spread today could prove deadly.

* * *

 _ **Austin**_

Oh, this is rich. Peterson and Aguirre on one side of Aguirre's office, Little Miss Perfecta and her dickhead boyfriend on the other ... and me standing by myself. Nobody on my side, that's for sure.

Aguirre clears his throat. "Austin, this is the second time in two weeks you're in my office."

Yep, that about sums it up. The guy is an absolute genius.

"Sir," I say, playing the game because I'm sick of Little Miss Perfecta and her boyfriend controlling the entire fucking school. "There was a little mishap during lunch involving grease and my pants. Instead of missin' class, I had a friend get me these  
/as a replacement." I gesture to my current jeans Dez managed to snatch from my house.

"Mrs. Peterson," I say, turning to my chem teacher, "I wouldn't let a little stain keep me from your brilliant lecture."

"Don't placate me, Austin," Peterson says with a snort. "I've had it up to here with your antics,"

she says, her hand waving above her head. She glares at Ally and Ethan. I think she's going to let them bitch at me until I hear her say, "And don't think you two are any better."

Ally seems stunned at the scolding. Oh, but she was perfectly content watching Mrs. P.

bitch me out.

"I can't be partners with him," Little Miss Perfecta blurts out.

Ethan steps forward. "She can partner up with me and Darlene."

I almost smile when Mrs. P.'s eyebrows rise so high I think they're about to run up her forehead and never stop. "And what makes you two so special you think you can change my class structure?"

Go, Peterson!

"Nadine, I'll take it from here," Aguirre says to Mrs. P., then points to a picture of our school framed on the wall. He doesn't let the two north siders answer Mrs. P.'s question before he says,

"Our motto at Fairfield High is Diversity Breeds Knowledge, guys. If you ever forget, it's etched into the stones at the front entrance, so the next time you pass by it take a minute to think about what those words mean. Let me assure you as your newprincipal  
my goal is to bridge any gap in the school culture that negates that motto."

Okay, so diversity breeds knowledge. But I've also seen it breed hatred and ignorance. I'm not about to taint Aguirre's rosy picture of our motto, because I'm starting to believe our principal actually believes the crap he's spouting.

"Dr. Aguirre and I are on the same page. In light of that . . ." Peterson fires me a fierce look-one so convincing she probably practices it in front of a mirror.

"Austin, stop goading Ally." She fires the same look to the two on the other side of the room.

"Ally, stop acting like a diva.

And Ethan... I don't even know what you have to do with this."

"I'm her boyfriend."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your relationship out of my classroom."

"But-," Ethan starts.

Peterson cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "Enough. We're done here and so are all of you."

Ethan grabs the diva's hand and they both file out of the room.

After I walk out of Aguirre's office, Peterson puts a hand on my elbow. "Austin?"

I stop and look at her. Into her eyes, which have sympathy written all over them. It doesn't sit well in my gut. "Yeah?"

"I see right through you, you know."

I need to wipe that sympathy off her face. The last time a teacher looked at me like that, it was in first grade right after my dad was shot. "It's the second week of school, Nadine. You might want to wait a month or two before you make a statement like  
/that."

She chuckles and says, "I haven't been teaching that long, but I've already seen more Austin Moon in my classroom than a lot of teachers will see in a lifetime."

"And I thought I was unique." I put my hands over my heart. "You wound me, Nadine."

"You want to make yourself unique, Austin? Finish school and graduate without dropping out."

"That's the plan," I tell her, although I've never admitted it to anyone before. I know my mom wants me to graduate, but we've never discussed it. And, to be honest, I don't know if she actually expects it.

"I'm told they all say that at first." She opens her purse and pulls out my bandanna. "Don't let your life outside of school dictate your future," she says, getting all serious on me.

I shove the bandanna into my back pocket. She has no clue how much my life outside of school leaks into the life I lead inside of school. A redbrick building can't shield me from the outside world. Hell, I couldn't hide in here even if I wanted to.

"Iknow what you're gonna say next. . . if you ever need a friend, Austin, I'm here."

"Wrong. I'm not your friend. If I were, you wouldn't be a gang member. But I've seen your test scores. You're a smart kid who can succeed if you take school seriously."

Succeed. Success. It's all relative, now, isn't it? "Can I go to class now?" I ask, because I have no comeback to that. I'm ready to accept that my chem teacher and new principal might not be on my side . . . but I'm not sure they're on the other side,either.  
Kinda blows my theories out of the water.

"Yeah, go to class, Austin."

I'm still thinking about what Peterson said when I hear her call after me, "And if you call me Nadine again, you'll have the pleasure of getting another detention slip and writing an essay on respect. Remember, I'm not your friend."

As I walk into the hallway, I smile to myself. That woman sure does wield those blue detention slips and threats of essays like weapons.

* * *

 **Hope y'all liked it! Please review! I love hearing from y'all!**

 **Next chapter when I get 5 reviews**

 **GOD BLESS Y'ALL❤️**


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